Uncommon
by prouvaires
Summary: -and miles from where you are I lay down on the cold ground and pray that something picks me up and sets me down in your warm arms.- UtherNimueh. You can never truly hate what you love.


_And miles from where you are I lay down on the cold ground, and I pray that something picks me up and sets me down in your warm arms._

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the BBC TV show Merlin, or any of the characters therein.

**Words:** 1,339

**Rating:** T

**Song:** Set the Fire to the Third Bar – Snow Patrol

--

He pretends like he hates her. And he does, really. But he hates her in the way that you can only hate when you love the person at the same time. It's almost like how a brother and a sister hate each other, but because they're family, they have to love each other so they do. But with them, they're not brother and sister (although they grew up like it), and so they have no excuse for loving each other under all the layers of hatred.

She's trying to destroy him, his kingdom and all he stands for. And he's trying to eradicate her, her people and her religion. They circle around each other like two lions in the coliseum, equally matched, each reluctant to attack each other but pushed forward by outside circumstances. Because, really, when she sends the plague she's doing it because she wants him to know that she's still alive, still waiting for him; not buried in the cold earth with other, lesser beings. (_I'm here. I'm alive. I love you. And I'm still the smart one._)

When he tries to kill the knight she's raised from the dead he's doing it for Arthur, and to acknowledge the fact that she's still alive. (_I know. I'm sorry. I love you. And I'm still the strong one._)

Apart from their twisted, desperate love of each other, they have one thing in common – a childhood. And that's something that's going to stick with them as long as they live. And, more than just a childhood, they have one incandescent, identical memory that neither realises the other remembers.

--

In the memory, she's maybe fifteen. He's a year or so older, around sixteen. They're lying on a small, sandy beach next to an idyllic blue lake. Their horses graze quietly under a tree, and he's spread his cloak out to keep the sand from getting on her long, deep red dress. They're lying on it together, and she's absently playing with the clouds, her deft fingers moulding them from where she lies into shapes she think will please him – a sword, a dragon, a castle.

Her head is pillowed on his arm, and they're both laughing as she creates more shapes out of the scudding clouds. He captures her hands eventually, and draws her fingers to his lips to lay a kiss upon them.

"The people will complain that the rain is irregular," he tells her, and she giggles as she rolls her eyes.

"It's always about the people," she complains, but her heart isn't in it and she's not really that bothered.

"Of course it is," he reminds her gently. "The people make the kingdom, and I intend to be the king of the most powerful kingdom in the land when I am older."

She laughs. (he's just the dreaming prince of a kingdom swathed in chaos).

"You'll never gain control of all this," she says, gesturing around herself. "You don't have the men or the support. Your father will probably lose what little he has left before he dies."

He kneels suddenly, dislodging her, and takes her hands in his. His eyes are fervent as they gaze into hers, and his hair falls charmingly into his face as he regards her.

"Nimueh…" he begins, and the corners of her lips curl up into a smile as she waits.

"What?" she whispers eventually, and he traces the outline of her cheek gently.

"With you by my side, we could rule this whole land," he promises her, and she smiles and turns her head away. (of course they could – she knows how powerful she is).

"You will never be allowed to marry me," she reminds him softly, and he sighs, and leans down to lay a kiss upon her cheek.

"I know," he says quietly, and she reaches up to cup his cheek in the palm of her hand.

"I don't blame you," she swears. "I know a prince cannot marry a common girl."

(of course, she's about as uncommon as you can get, but the law doesn't care.)

"My parents have treated you almost as their own daughter since your mother died," he says, and she laughs.

"Almost," she emphasises. "No-one has forgotten that I am the daughter of two servants, no matter that my mother saved your mother's life."

He sighs, and looks distraught.

"Uther," she says, suddenly impatient. "Go marry this girl that your father has picked out – Igraine, or whatever she's called. Marry her, have many fine, strong sons to succeed you to the throne. I'll be content to serve you as your priestess of the Old Religion."

They're been planning for years what they will do when he is king. They're going to work together to create the most beautiful kingdom in the land, and then with his mighty army and her magic skills they'll conquer all the other kingdoms one by one. (in theory, at least.)

The sky darkens suddenly, and the air grows heavy with the promise of a storm. They re-mount their horses quickly, and gallop back to the protection of the castle, his blue cloak and her red dress flying out billowing out with the speed of their passage.

--

That red dress was the one she wore the day Igraine died and Arthur was born, and she's worn it ever since. Her magic keeps it as clean as she needs it. She pretends to herself that it's a symbol of her defiance – red is the colour of warning, of danger, and she's dangerous. Red is not a colour for hiding – red is a colour for marching into the middle of a crowded room and killing a king. (and the dress is the last connection she has to him, but she won't admit that to anyone, least of all herself.)

And now she's hiding among the ancient ruins on a magical island, and he's ruling in all his glory in his mighty castle in Camelot.

She tries to poison his son's servant. (_I haven't given up. I don't really want to kill you. I wish Arthur was my son._)

He executes ten people accused of sorcery. (_I don't want you to give up. I don't want to kill you either. If he was your son none of this would have happened._)

She sends Tristan as a wraith to kill him. (_I knew you wouldn't allow Arthur to fight. I know how much you love him. I wish you loved me as much as that._)

He defeats the wraith with the magnificent sword Arthur's servant-boy gives him. (_I would never allow my son to take a sword meant for me. I love him so much it terrifies me sometimes. I used to love you as much as that, but Igraine was everything and you took her from me._)

She makes one last attempt, and sends the Quest Beast. (_If you had married me, none of this would have happened._)

The Quest Beast attacks Arthur, and the prince lies with his life slipping away as Uther cries over him. (_If I had married you, I would not have Arthur._)

She grants the young warlock's request, her bare feet not feeling the cold of the hard earth as she fills the Cup of Life for him. (_I'm saving your son. It's not our fault. This was never our destiny._)

He has never felt such happiness as the moment when Arthur opens his eyes again. (_Thank you for saving him. If I could have, I would have rewritten destiny. I love you._)

And after Merlin leaves, she sinks to the cold ground and cries the tears she swore she would lock inside herself for the rest of her life, wishing that her magic is strong enough for a miracle that will transport her into his warm arms.

When the young warlock returns, she allows the lightening to consume her, the fierce energy carrying her soul straight to Elysium. (_I'll wait for you here. Destiny has no place in the afterlife. I love you._)

--

**A/N: **They're so beautifully tragic, and an easy second place to Arthur and Morgana as my favourite pairing. I'm sorry it was so dark – but then, what UtherNimueh fic can not be dark?

Anyway, I hope, if you didn't enjoy it, that it at least touched you a little. I feel these two are somewhat neglected in the fandom.

If you do feel like favouriting (and I'd be honoured if you did!) just please don't do so without reviewing. I like knowing _why _you've favourited something, so I can continue doing whatever it is that you like.


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